


A Kiss on the Palm

by cozywilde



Series: Smoochtober [20]
Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Awkwardness, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Hand Kisses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 09:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21116546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozywilde/pseuds/cozywilde
Summary: Sidzhan attends his first masquerade party and, despite his pessimistic assumptions, actually manages to find someone to talk to.





	A Kiss on the Palm

**Author's Note:**

> [Sidzhan](https://toyhou.se/3345296.sidzhan), an easily flustered perfumist-in-training  
[Sadzhik](https://toyhou.se/2852682.sadzhik), Sidzhan's mentor  
[Lokiin](https://toyhou.se/3590801.lokiin), an eager-to-please ambassador-in-training
> 
> And I suppose this is technically an AU where Sidzhan and Lokiin haven't met yet.

“Relax, apprentice. This isn’t a test.” 

Normally, his mentor’s amused tone could be reassuring, relaxing even, but Sidzhan can’t help but disagree. “Sadz- master,” he quickly corrects himself. “You may not be evaluating me, but I think everyone else here will be judging plenty enough to make up for it.” 

Sadzhik laughs, eyes bright behind the shimmering teal of his mask. “Fair point, but think of it this way - they’ll have no idea it’s _ you _who they’re judging.”

“I s’pose,” Sidzhan says, uncertain. Sadzhik gives him an encouraging smile and squeezes his shoulder, hand warm through Sidzhan’s crisp new jacket. 

“You’ll be fine. It’s only a few hours, and who knows - you may meet someone you like.” He sweeps off towards one of the groups chatting nearby, the embroidered peacock feathers of his shawl swirling elegantly behind him. The group opens to accept him as soon as he approaches, effortless. 

Sidzhan sighs, wishing he could follow. But, as Sadzhik had reminded him many times, the point of the masquerade is to mingle and get to know people, not to lurk in his mentor’s shadow all evening. He adjusts his own mask - a simple fox, nothing nearly so ornate as Sadzhik’s, he hadn’t wanted to attract that much attention if he can help it - and starts to meander the edges of the room. 

Most people seem to be chatting happily in groups already, and Sidzhan can’t bring himself to step forward and join any of them. He doesn’t want to intrude where he’s not wanted. It’s different when it’s someone like Sadzhik walking up, but Sidzhan? No matter what Sadzhik says about anonymity, the second Sidzhan says so much as a “hello” his accent will mark him as someone who doesn’t belong. 

He does accept a glass of champagne from a waiter, so he at least has something to do with his hands. He makes sure to take tiny sips, though - gods forbid he gets drunk and makes an utter fool of himself. 

“Excuse me?” 

Sidzhan, busily examining the curtains, assumes they’re speaking to someone else. Until -

“Excuse me? You there, in the fox mask?” 

“What?” Sidzhan whirls around. “I mean - sorry, did you need something?” 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” they say, blinking bright green eyes behind a bird mask - a dove, maybe? “I just thought you looked a little lost -”

Sidzhan grimaces. “That obvious, huh?” 

“- and since this is my first time I feel the same way.” They blush, enough that the mask can’t hide it. 

“Oh.” Sidzhan says. “Yeah, it’s my first time too.” He pauses, not sure how to continue - normally, this is where he’d tell them his name. Now that Sidzhan has calmed a bit, he notices the pretty drape of the silks they’re wearing, baring delicate shoulders and highlighting a slim waist. He tugs at his own collar, wishing he was wearing something a little less constraining himself. It feels quite warm, suddenly. “Are you… here with someone?” 

“My mentor brought me,” they say, with a bemused smile. 

Sidzhan smiles back, oddly delighted at this point of commonality. “Me too! He said it would be no big deal and I wouldn’t have to worry about making a fool of myself with everyone in masks and all, but it just feels like -”

“You don’t really know anyone, right?” they finish for him, and Sidzhan nods. 

“Plus,” Sidzhan whispers, leaning in - they obligingly lean in to meet him - “what is even the point of socializing if you’re not going to know who anyone is after this?” 

They nod fervently, and both of them giggle at their bit of mutiny. When the laughter dies they’re still so close, and Sidzhan’s breath catches, lost in those vivid green eyes. 

“Forgive me,” they say suddenly. “Even if I can’t introduce myself properly, I shouldn’t forget my manners.” They extend their hand, and Sidzhan rests his own in it after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” They brush their lips over the back of Sidzhan’s knuckles, and he shivers a little - their lips are so soft, and he can feel the puff of their warm breath over his skin. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well,” he says shakily. Sadzhik had told him he might meet some people who held to high standards of manners, ones he might consider courtly, but in Sadzhik’s descriptions a kiss on the hand in greeting had hardly been _ sensual. _And unless Sidzhan is mistaken, it’s not just his own rising attraction he’s feeling, but the dove’s as well. 

“You have very nice hands,” they say softly. Sidzhan doesn’t pull his hand back, loathe to when their thumb is stroking gently over his palm. “Do you use a perfume? It doesn't smell like anything I can recognize.” 

Sidzhan flushes. No matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to get all of the various scents and oils off of his hands; they probably smell like about twenty different things mixed together. “I’m learning to make them. Perfumes, I mean.” He laughs awkwardly. “I probably wasn’t supposed to say that.” 

“I won’t tell,” they say, and even though they’ve just met and it could be anyone behind that mask - Sidzhan trusts them. 

Someone calls across the room, announcing dinner will be served shortly. The two of them jump, but Sidzhan’s hand stays clasped with theirs. 

“I should go,” they say apologetically. 

“Me too,” Sidzhan says, but he doesn’t move. 

“It really is a shame about the masks,” they say, biting their lip.

Sidzhan nods, but what can he do? He doesn’t want to get in trouble, or get Sadzhik in any trouble for bringing him for that matter. 

They give his hand a squeeze and let go, Sidzhan sighing and letting it fall to his side. They really should go so they don’t miss the dinner. He turns to walk to the tables. 

“Wait.” 

He turns back immediately, and sees their hand extended to him again. He takes it, not sure what they want, but then they raise his hand to their lips again. 

“Goodbye,” they murmur, kissing that same spot over his knuckles, and Sidzhan’s breath catches. Then their lips skim up his fingers, Sidzhan wordlessly letting them turn his hand to press a final one to his palm. “And I hope we meet again.” They press something soft into his hand, fold his fingers around it, and step back with one last smile before they go. 

Sidzhan’s whole hand feels tingly where their lips were, and he turns on autopilot to go find his table for dinner. He opens his hand to see what they gave him. It’s a handkerchief, the fine fabric dotted with hasty lines of ink. 

_ Lokiin. Main St Inn, 321. _


End file.
